Throbbing Hearts and Broken Starts
by tahnotion
Summary: The reigning pro-bending champions weren't always the lucky ones. The story of how the White Falls Wolfbats started, and how they ended. TW: Abuse, implied rape, and character death.


The wheels of the automobile buck with every bump in the road, mud splashing and pelting the sides of the blue vehicle. The driver curses under his breath, his hand briefly coming up to brush a stray black hair from his forehead. "One thing you damned swamp people ought to figure out how to do is pave some roads." The boy in the backseat barely hears the suggestion. A plump hand fixes itself around his mother's thin fingers, tipped with long, freshly manicured nails. Often greasy, unruly hair is now clean and brushed. He's never seen his mother in such a... state. It's not common in the swamp, no, none of this is...

"Spirits!" the man in the front shouts when the wheels hit another particularly bad spot. The papers in the passenger seat slip down and collect on the floor.

The boy's mother, Shiomi, grips his hand tighter. "The road starts in just a bit, Sheng," she assures the driver. He growls.

"The smell doesn't seem to be going away." A bony hand slips through silky black hair. The boy tries to arch into the touch, but it's quickly replaced by air- just an empty space as his mother stares out the window longingly.

_He's been good to us, so good to us... _The little voices chatter in his ear- mocking or comforting, he doesn't know. He twiddles with his thumbs and takes a look at what their surroundings- swamp fading around them, and hard, steady roads beginning to form. The heavy weight of tension hangs low in the air. Tahno hadn't meant to walk in on them last night. He hadn't meant to see their nude bodies twisted, hair clinging to sweaty skin. He hadn't wanted to be hit by Sheng, hadn't wanted the blackish bruise to form on the puffy skin of his cheek...

His father is dead. He's not coming back. Sheng is the closest thing he has now. That's what mother had said.

He can trust mother.

His fingernails scratch at the paint on the door idly, earning him a scolding from his mother, low enough that Sheng doesn't hear. "How long will it take?" he asks. He can almost see Sheng's face twisted in a sour expression.

"It will take more than one trip, Tahno," his mother says, running a hand through his hair once more, barely grazing the tender black spot beneath his eye. "Hush, now."

"You'll have to learn to speak like a proper citizen," Sheng says with disappointment. "Your accents are both so awfully noticeable." Tahno feels his body being pulled closer to Shiomi.

She sighs, the sound almost inaudible, and agrees. "Yes, of course, dear."

They reach Republic City after a week of traveling, with the occasional stop at a local motel in a small village on the way. Tahno's ears still ring with the sounds of horns and of whistles. After the final ride into town, he had no desire to lay his eyes on another vehicle again. To his chagrin, Republic City is full of them. People walk by their cab as it carries them through the streets, not blinking an eye. It's odd, Tahno thinks, to see people so... _accustomed _to this. They dress strange, too- slim jackets with wiring and fancy collars. He hears them babbling on about their day. Their voices are flat, much like Sheng's own. He doesn't like the sound of it.

His mother's hand grips his tight, like it's been nearly the whole trip, save for the times they've stopped and Sheng's pulled her away from him to take her to bed or beat on her some more, beat on her like he has with Tahno...

He pulls a pant leg up to pick lazily at a large scab on his knee. When the car halts at a stoplight, an unkempt nail digs deep into the dried blood and draws a torrent of new, fresh crimson from beneath its surface. Tahno hisses in pain and clasps a hand over it. When the automobile starts up again, he looks to his mother in a desperate cry for help, but she pays no attention, her head leaning against the window. As she hums a quiet lullaby, Tahno, nearly panicking, searches for some sort of handkerchief he can use to stop the flow of blood from dripping on the leather seat below him. Surely there must be one, he thinks. He's seen Sheng use them often. But it's too late.

A fat drop of blood splatters against the seat, and then another, and another. Tahno lifts his hand in defeat, already caked in drying blood itself. Shiomi's eyes open and her gaze drifts to Tahno's horrified expression, and then falls to his knee and the bloody mess on the seat. "Tahno," she says, ever-so-quietly, and Tahno knows that he's going to be hit again. He can see it his mother's face and he can hear it in her voice. He can already visualize the purple splotches on his cheeks and nose and around his eyes. He can already imagine the excuses his mother will instruct him to use- he fell while climbing again, he slipped in the mud and his face met a rock, or he ran into a wall. Maybe one day someone would catch the inconsistencies in his stories. Maybe one day they'd just look at him and they'd _know_ and they'd save them, save them both...

The car comes to a sudden stop. Tahno realizes they've pulled off into an alleyway. Sheng calmly unbuckles his seat belt and exits the automobile. _Did he see? _Tahno asks himself. Just the idea of it makes him feel sick to his stomach. _Of course he saw. Sheng can see everything. _Surprising Tahno, Sheng doesn't come to his door, or even his side of the car. His heart sinks. _Mother... _

She's yanked out of the door violently and Tahno swears he hears something pop, but only a whimper escapes her lips. Sheng's eyes meet Tahno's for just a brief second and he quivers in fear. Sheng tears a piece from the bottom of Shiomi's dress and she cries out. "Not here," she begs. "Not in front of him." Tahno doesn't understand. Not now. Sheng shoves the piece of fabric against Tahno's knee. He bites his thumb to keep from gasping.

"Clean up my seat, you fucking brat." He pulls away then, leaving the tiny piece of fabric clinging to Tahno's skin. The blood flow hasn't stopped, but it has slowed considerably. Sheng pulls Shiomi out of Tahno's view behind a wall where a dumpster and several overturned boxes sit. Tahno tries not to pay attention to the sickening cracks and blows coming from just around the corner and wipes his knee with care. They get louder and Tahno grits his teeth. He'll be the next if he Sheng sees any tears when he returns.

_You're a strong boy, _his father had once told him- his real father. Not the imposter that slept at his mother's side and left bruises on her limbs. His father was a kind, swamp healer. In the end, he could save everyone but himself. _You may not know it yet, but you're the strongest I've ever met. And you know what, Tahno? _His son sat, giggling, with a bright sheen in his eyes that has since dulled.

_What, father?_

_You're going to do great things. _

He balls his hands into fists and manages to keep in the tears in. Footsteps approach the vehicle once again and Tahno tries not to stare at the mess his mother has become. She's in her usual, post-fight state: bruises beneath the bags of her eyes, a split lip, cut across the cheek, one arm cradling the other. "I'll heal you when we get home," Sheng says, holding the door open for her as if she had just been attacked by another. Tahno isn't surprised in the least by Sheng's statement. No, Shiomi is his little prize to beat and to fuck and he doesn't want anyone else to know. Tahno, on the other hand, is the swampbender's son he bears with to get to use her. He can be humiliated, a bruised little boy in public, and Sheng won't care because Tahno isn't _his_. He's just a worthless little object that Sheng had found and stored away deep in a cupboard, forever to be ignored and abused until Sheng moves on and some other new owner finds the dusty trinket.

Yes, for a ten-year-old, Tahno is truly broken.


End file.
